


Mallout: A Perfect Wreck

by PeacefulPhoenix



Series: Mallout [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anxiety, Cocaine, Depression, Drug Addiction, Heavy Angst, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Some comfort towards the end, Valencock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 15:24:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5876086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacefulPhoenix/pseuds/PeacefulPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Mallout AU fic where Hancock has some serious drug addiction and depression problems. He tries to hide it from Nick (A cop) when they start dating but it takes a real tole on him. Written as a gift for Valencock on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mallout: A Perfect Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this fic is meant to be read alongside Mallout as many of the events parallel (Up to chapter 7) and at the very least you’re expected to know the Mallout AU by Valencock on tumblr. That said, this has the opposite tone of those stories. It’s not fluff and it most certainly does not romanticize mental illness and drug addiction. It is also not going to influence Mallout at all. This is something on the side you can either chose to read or ignore.

John Hancock had been perfectly happy being a perfect wreck for the past couple years, thanks. It was his own life and body he was fucking up so who else should give a shit. His friends certainly didn’t and that was just fine by him. They didn’t need to be taking on his problems. 

Once upon a time he’d had plans to get back to college but there wasn’t money for that. He’d gotten this job in a Spencer’s at a mall but most of the money went straight into his variety of bad habits. Most days started with getting high, going to work, getting high, going home, and getting high then hating himself for it.

It had started out as just a bit of good fun. He and MacCready would hang out with some other guys - and occasionally girls - and smoke some weed. That had been fine for a couple years but then it wasn’t enough - it couldn’t keep him distracted long enough. His mind would always drift back to himself.

Deacon had been the first one to introduce him to his current dealer. Apparently he’d figured that if Hancock was going to make the switch eventually anyways, may as well make it someone he trusted. Well, to say Deacon trusted anyone would be pushing it a bit, but at least someone he knew.

He’d gotten hooked almost instantly. 

It was no small secret that Hancock had problems with depression. He had the scars - both physical and emotional - to prove it so no one challenged him at first. When he was high he was happy. When he wasn’t, he could at least fake it when he needed to and pot was enough to bridge the gap between lines and ease the crash. 

When Nick Valentine came into his life, he didn’t think much of it. Just another mall cop with no real power to replace the last one. He’d been starting to catch on to Hancock’s problem so Deacon had made him disappear somehow. He didn’t much care to learn the details.

He’d been warned to keep a low profile this time - there was only so much Deacon could do to protect him - but he’d always had trouble with that. It was just too easy to get under Valentine’s skin. He never had to resort to cripple jokes like he was sure countless others before him had done. All he had to do was make everyone else uncomfortable. A reward in and of itself. 

The first time he smoked pot in front of the cop was out of desperation. He was coming out of a particularly good high and knew the crash was gonna be absolute shit. Only way to save himself was a smoke. He played it cool for as long as he could, sticking stickers on Valentine’s arm and making robot jokes in a desperate attempt to get him to leave but to no avail. 

When he couldn’t wait any longer he pulled out and lit the joint. He was so fucked but who cared honestly. “Right in front of me? Really?” Nick scoffed. John just raised an eyebrow and he relented. “Fine. Just this time though.” And every time after that it seemed. It was almost a surprise to Hancock that Nick seemed to expect more of him. It’s not like he was new anymore and he obviously knew about his habit.

Figuring munchies would kick in any time now, Hancock had invited him to lunch. He honestly did feel bad about the robot jokes. If it had worked he’d have a couple more hours until he hated himself for it but that wasn’t the case.

Hancock had never found it hard to talk to people, especially while high but he usually had to at least try to make it work. This was easier than he expected and honestly it scared him. There’s no way he could buddy up to a cop. That had happened before already and it hadn’t gone well. He would find out about real drugs soon enough and then he was fucked. And not in the good kinda way. 

As soon as possible Hancock had retreated to his store to drink. He couldn’t let this happen - couldn’t get attached. Even if handsome, square-jawed, chubby, perfect-haired, smoking detective guys were his type - which he tried to convince himself they weren’t - there was no chance he would be interested in John, right? He was probably straight. No reason to believe he wasn’t at this point and despite his belief that all people were bisexual, reality had a way of ignoring belief. Hell, he had never even heard him talk about any kind of relationships. For all he knew, Nick could be aromantic or asexual! That would seriously screw up his chances.

There he was again. Hancock knew he didn’t have a chance but he let himself think ‘my chances’. It was stupid and it would just get his hopes up. He didn’t have a chance with anyone let alone Nick Valentine. He obviously disapproved of the pot and Hancock couldn’t imagine what he’d think of everything else. Not to mention he was such an ass to him. Why would he give a crap about someone who was just making his life harder. Answer: he wouldn’t, even if he was gay. 

If he was being honest, the only way he got anyone to come home with him recently was the offer of drugs and no-strings-attached sex. The kinds of people that took him up on that offer weren’t the kinds of people he’d want to get that involved with anyways and he was sure they wouldn’t want the same of him. No it was better this way. Stay unattached and no one can break your heart. 

He tried to live by that from that point on. He was only flirting as a joke and Nick was only blushing as a courtesy or maybe a reflex. Smoke breaks were just a normal thing guys did. So was their arms brushing together while they sat side-by-side as Nick read. Definitely wasn’t gay at all. He was just reading into it. The little smiles and eye contact didn’t mean anything. He could convince himself of that much at least - if only a little bit.

But then he couldn’t. 

It had all started with the damn segway - the one he had suggested Nick ask for. John would’ve said it was ironic that his own suggestion was his undoing but honestly he expected it at this point. Who else knew just how to destroy him?

Everything had been going more or less fine until god damn Kent Connolly stepped out from his store. Hancock couldn’t find it in him to be mad at Kent obviously. Guy was probably the purest, most innocent person working in this building. He even wrote a comic about them! No one was supposed to knew Hancock had come to feel in some way responsible for him. When faced with the choice between running into him and Cait the answer was clear. 

She was livid. He couldn’t even bring himself to be scared though. He’d made his bed, time to lie in it. Maybe she could knock some sense into him. As it turns out, though, she just made the white noise headache all rush to the front of his consciousness and get about 20 times worse. 

And then came Valentine, swooping in like a white knight, tearing away the angry irishwoman and dragging her off. John couldn’t figure out quite why he looked so concerned and… protective. That’s what that look was right? Either way he felt his heart give up pretending he didn’t have a massive crush on a cop.

Deacon showed up only seconds after Valentine disappeared from view to help Hancock on his feet and ultimately home. “I’m not always gonna be there to take care of you, John,” he muttered, basically dragging him along. “You’ve got to start watching out for yourself more.” He could only manage a laugh in response. 

His nose was pretty busted up - as if it wasn’t big and weird enough already - which meant that the next couple days were coke free. 

MacCready was not happy.

Hancock spent most of his time in bed shaking under a cocoon of blankets. RJ would bring him plates of food only to come back hours later to find them untouched and John unmoved. He couldn’t focus on anything but how much he needed a hit. For hours he would sit and think about it, shaking and headaches getting worse by the minute. There was no way he was making it through this. He was going to die and he figured that was probably okay.

But, of course, he didn’t die. When he finally emerged from his room, hair a tangled mess and eyes gaunt, MacCready basically shoves a small baggy of cocaine into his hand. “Just pull yourself together already.” Without another word he left to go to work. Hancock wasted no time in taking his advice. 

It was like a switch being flipped. In no time flat he felt like he had all the energy in the world and managed to get himself all cleaned up. His hands shook and he could feel the sweat on his brow. He hoped to go no one would notice. His fingers tapped against his pocket, hitting his phone and he had to resist the urge to pull it out. He’d gotten Fallout Shelter to help him through the withdrawal but now he couldn’t put it down. 

He showed up late and managed to avoid most people. Deacon found him in no time. “You doing okay?” 

“Feel like a million freshly minted bucks,” Hancock replied back proudly. He couldn’t see Deacon’s eyes behind those damn shades he always wore but he knew that they were probably judging him. How obvious was it? Would everyone notice or just Deacon?

For a while neither said anything until, “Listen, MacCready told me how bad it was and don’t you think maybe you should quit?” He couldn’t be serious right?

“You want me to go through all of that again? When I could feel like this? I thought you were my friend.” Deacon seemed to give up and that was just fine with John. There was nothing wrong with his drug habit, just all the other fucked up things in his world. How could he suggest that he stop the one thing that kept him somewhat functional?!

As Deacon left he turned over his shoulder to say, “You owe me for what MacCready gave you by the way,” as if Hancock didn’t already owe people enough money… And he’d need more soon. 

And if he was right he’d need a smoke break soon too. What started as just a couple minutes to take off the quickly approaching edge turned into nearly an hour as he played Fallout Shelter. May as well just add it to the list of other bad habits. When someone had suggested pot to take the edge off coke he’d thought they were full of shit. An upper and a downer? Wouldn’t it just make the crash worse? Apparently not. Made him mellow out like crazy but at least it kept the depression at bay. 

“Hancock, what the hell are you doing?” Shit. That was most definitely not the way he wanted to see Nick on his first day back. He hadn’t figured out exactly how he wanted it to go but not like this! He wasn’t ready!

John went on autopilot. “You know, I really don’t like it when we start conversations like this, Valentine. Why so formal? Just makes you sound like a dad and not in a sexy daddy kinda way.” They went on to talk about the game and as the pot started to kick in he relaxed. If only all of life could be like this. This was easy. Nick wasn’t judging him for whatever coke symptoms were still showing through. Or maybe he just didn’t notice. 

Until he asked about money. Then once again came the shame. $80 on this stupid game, the rest on drugs, and now he was broke again. He tried to use the same justification he always used. It was just one college textbook. That didn’t make a big difference. Until his entire college fund was converted to powder and snorted. The justification always worked better in the moment than later when he wanted to buy food and couldn’t afford it or when he kept the money from a sale at the store. After that he always felt like shit. 

And yet when Nick told him to go back to work he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again. Not yet. And then he made the stupidest goddamn mistake he’d made a while as they parted ways. He put a fucking heart sticker on Valentine’s arm and then everything went to shit because he seemed to get angry. 

“I’m so done with things just happening to me at this damn job.” Oh god. He’d gone too far. He was going to lose Nick! He had to try and save this - had to say something. And yet as soon as he opened his mouth to talk he was cut-off. “For as long as I’ve been working here everything’s just been happening to me and around me and I’m sick of it.” Had he really hated John for that long? It wouldn’t surprise him honestly. He would be right to hate him but he honestly believed that Nick had liked him at least a bit.

“Go on a date with me.” Hancock’s brain absolutely shut down. “A real date at a real restaurant where we both dress up nice. Not some shitty lunch in the cafeteria.” So Nick didn’t hate him? But he’d just said… He didn’t even know how to respond so he did the only thing he knew how to do in situations like this. He started laughing.

He wasn’t sure if it was out of pity for Nick, relief, or how excited Hancock was at the idea. Maybe a bit of everything. “Oh god, Nicky. You look so damn serious! And with Piper watching and everything, Christ.” Once he calmed his laughing he stood straight and looked right into Nick’s eyes. “Chill out would you? Of course I’ll go on a date with you.” Hancock spent the rest of the work day ignoring his own advice to chill. 

As soon as he got home that night he looked for Piper’s blog. Nick Valentine and John Hancock were unfortunately not very helpful for google searching but thankfully Valencock was. He was so glad he’d convinced Piper to give tell him their ship name a month ago. 

When he found it he read every post, saw every picture. It wasn’t all right of course but it was close enough to get Hancock what he wanted. It was so good to imagine that their lives were actually like Piper wrote because these pictures made him look happy. They made Valentine happy. 

And then he discovered the fanfiction.

It felt so wrong and the writing was admittedly very bad but he couldn’t help reading it. There was no harm right? Everyone read fanfiction. So what if it was about him and the guy who had just asked him out? That excuse didn’t even work for a second. Especially not when he clicked on the one tagged nsfw. 

It was wrong. He shouldn’t have. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t read every single smutty word. As soon as he was finished he hated himself even more for it though he hadn’t quite realized that was possible. He’d seriously just read a story written by some chick he knew about himself and a guy he worked with fucking. He hadn’t read it as a joke, either. He’d just wanted to imagine it and imagine it he had. 

The tips of his fingers pressed into his thigh, nails digging into the skin there. He shouldn’t. He hadn’t in a long time but the more pressure he applied the calmer he felt - the less he hated himself. At least, for now. He knew it would just come back later. For someone like him there was no escape. There never would be. 

This date was going to ruin things. If Hancock had just said no he wouldn’t be here. As soon as he let himself believe everything was going to be okay with Valentine everything would just take a turn for the worst but if he didn’t let himself believe that he would get anywhere with him. He was trapped now. A quick message to Valentine could fix all this.

The message was typed into the send bar in no time. “Sorry not really interested in the date thing.” It sat there for minutes until a message from Valentine came in, simply reading ‘excited’. After that, Hancock couldn’t send his message. He deleted it and replied ‘same’. 

When the day came he found himself faced with a hard choice. Before him sat yet another small baggie of white powder. He wanted it real bad of course. He always did. But what would happen if he crashed during his date? What would happen if Valentine came to his senses after seeing him? Was it worth the risk? Every part of him screamed that it was. And it took all his willpower to stand up and walk right past it to his closet. 

It was the first time in months he had willingly not done a line when he had the chance to. He didn’t realize that of course. He was too distracted by the slight headaches and chest pain and overwhelming urge to go back and do it. By the time he was dressed and Nick’s car had pulled up he hadn’t touched it or pot. He was clean tonight. 

The thought terrified him and his heart rate picked up like crazy when he heard MacCready’s voice yell, “Yo, John! The popo are here!” It was a signal to hide whatever drugs he had out but he just came right to the door. The rest of the night had gone wonderful. Most of it had been a blur but Hancock could remember how he felt that night. He had felt happy. Honestly happy. It wasn’t drugs or an act or anything like that. Just Nick.

The next weeks brought several failed attempts to get quit coke that seemed to last only a few days or less. One time he had doubts about Nick. Another time he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror. Yet another time he just couldn’t resist any longer. “Taking my advice, I see,” Deacon had commented one time. He’d used again later that night. 

It all came to a head when he spent his first night at Nick’s place. It shouldn’t have been a problem. He’d never bring coke here and most days Valentine was able to keep him sane and calm. Tonight was not one of those nights. Today was also the first night he had seen him without his prosthetic. He felt honored that he was trusted enough but at the same time it was weird. It reminded him just how much he didn’t know about Nick and how much Nick didn’t know about him.

It wasn’t until Nick was asleep that it got real bad. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t think. His stomach churned. He felt like he was intruding. He desperately needed something - anything. Would Deacon come bring him something? Probably not. Especially since he didn’t have any money left after the binge a couple days ago and both Deacon and his normal dealer were not letting him off with any more IOUs.

Maybe he could trade something. There had to be something here worth something right? He’d just buy Nick a new one of whatever it was when he had the money. Unfortunately it seemed that Valentine didn’t have anything worth anything either. Apparently being a security guard didn’t exactly pay well. Or maybe he just put it all into savings… Or maybe… Hancock’s eyes drifted to Nick’s detached prosthetic arm sitting on the table charging. What if he-

No. No! What the fuck was he thinking?! How shitty of a person did you have to be to think about stealing your boyfriend’s arm for drugs? The shittiest. He’d hit rock bottom. This was it. Had to be right? And if it wasn’t he didn’t want to know what was. 

He stopped taking drugs that night.

For a month he remained clean - well except for pot because let’s be real that’s not quite a real drug. It was the worst he’d felt in a long time. There was the constant shaking and cravings. Deacon and MacCready were constantly hovering around him and making sure he was okay, supplying pot if it got too bad. 

At one point Nick caught on to it. “You want to tell me what’s going on, John?” He’d asked one day as they smoked together. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking even after a full cigarette. “I’m not completely oblivious you know.”

His heart damn near lept out of his chest. He knew. He couldn’t know! “Just coming down with something, I think,” Hancock responded cooly. He let out a sigh of relief as Nick seemed to accept the answer and then found an excuse to slip away to his store once again.

Not even 30 minutes later, the mall cop was back at his store. The bottle he found Hancock drinking from was nearly empty and he prayed to god that it hadn’t been full this morning. “I want to help.” The prosthetic fingers came to rest atop his boyfriend’s. “Can I?”

John’s skin crawled as they got trapped under the fake ones. It just reminded him of what he had nearly done and instantly his stomach began to churn. “I’m fine,” he insisted, pulling his hand back. He could see Valentine trying and failing to hide his disappointment, pain, sadness and it broke his heart for having to do it but not as much as it would break Nick’s heart to know.

“Okay.”

Like that, he was gone again and Hancock chugged the rest of the bottle. This was all his fault. Valentine probably thought he was creeped out by the damn arm. He’d heard the stories - knew how much shit Nicky had to go through because of it. Still didn’t know the story about how he’d lost his real arm but he didn’t need to know. Hancock wanted to give him the world and yet… How could someone like him ever make someone else happy?

MacCready had to come pick him up at the end of the day. 

Nick avoided Hancock for the next two days and honestly, it didn’t surprise him. Just a matter of time right? What did surprise him when he found the man in question waiting next to his car at the end of the work week. “You’re staying with me for the weekend,” Nick stated, arms crossed over his chest. 

No no no no no this was not a good idea. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No.”

Shit.

Nick opened the car door and with a sigh, Hancock stepped in. After a couple seconds the cop rejoined him and started the engine. Both were silent until they drove by Hancock’s place. “Wait, aren’t we going to stop and get my stuff?”

“MacCready packed you a bag. It’s already at my place.”

This was just getting worse and worse! “MacCready?! You trust him to know what I need? What if he forgot something?” Hancock had given up trying to play it cool now and by Nick’s tightening jaw he knew that fact hadn’t gone un-noticed. 

“If you really need something we’ll figure that out then but I don’t want you bringing drugs or whatever else you’ve got going on into my house.” Fuck fuck fuck fuck. “And while we’re at it, give me your phone.” His prosthetic hand extended expectantly, eyes remaining firmly on the road.

There was a very long pause. “Nicky… You can’t be serious.” He was. “Come on man, what does it matter if I’ve got my phone or not?” He couldn’t. He wouldn’! It was okay for Valentine to ask him to do something like this! And yet when he found himself staring into his boyfriend’s eyes he knew he couldn’t win this. His phone slipped from his pocket and into the robotic hand. 

As soon as they entered the house, the mall cop took Hancock’s bag, searching through it and pulling out the weed and cigarettes he had stored in it. His heart nearly stopped. As early as a week earlier he would have found cocaine. A couple months ago he might have found a razor. “Stop, Nick, please,” the man pleaded as his vices were dumped into the trash. “I had to pay for those!” It was like his heart was being ripped apart with every second he was here. 

The world seemed to wobble before his eyes and he found himself sitting on the couch, staring at his hands. He didn’t notice time had even passed until a mug was pressed into his hands. It was so warm and it smelled so sweet. Tea. He took several sips, ignoring how it scalded his tongue before finally looking up again

Nick sat across from him, leaning forward slightly so his arms rested on his thighs. “Why are you doing this?”

The cop opted to ask a question of his own. “Are you happy?” When he couldn’t answer and returned his gaze to the mug between his hands, Nick continued. “That’s why.” The man scooted closer and his real hand found its way to Hancock’s knee, squeezing softly. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on but I want to help.” Hancock couldn’t answer or look up from his drink. 

The rest of that night seemed to pass in a blur. He could only really focus on flashes of it. Nick had made dinner - spaghetti. He’d been slow to eat it. Each bite felt like a fight. Get the noodles on the fork, lift it up, put it in his mouth, chew, swallow, repeat. His boyfriend waited at the table with him until he was done then cleaned up the plates. 

Then there had been a shower. The water had been just hot enough to almost hurt and that’s just how he wanted it. Nick had left him a t-shirt. It must have been one of his own because it was several sizes too big for Hancock - the perfect night-shirt.

His breath caught as he wiped away the steam in the mirror to look at his reflection. Thin scars on his thighs poked out from under the edge of the shirt and his freckles and nose seemed to show more prominently than usual. He couldn’t face Nick like this. He’d just stay in the bathroom. 

Valentine’s voice drifted in, muffled by the door, directly following two knocks. “You dressed?”

He wanted to say no so he could stay in here longer. “Yeah.”

The door clicked open and Nick entered, grabbing a comb then leading John back to the tv. If he had noticed the scars he showed no signs of it. Criminal Minds played - one of their tamer episodes thankfully - as Nick tried to tame Hancock’s mane. The plastic teeth rocked back and forth through the waves, occasionally getting caught on kinks. He wondered briefly if his boyfriend had a little sister or had perhaps once dated a girl for a long time. He was surprisingly gentle. 

It was almost relaxing and calm, being in his arms and watching tv. Until he rolled up his sleeve to take off his arm which seemed to be on low power. “Please don’t,” Hancock whispered. He knew it was wrong to ask that of him. It wasn’t the stump he was afraid of - it was the prosthetic - but he knew that wasn’t how Nick would see it. Ever the gentleman, however, he did as he was asked and rolled his sleeve back down.

Once the show drew to a close, Valentine flipped the power off. “Come on, you’re sleeping in the bed.” He stood and stretched, the forearm of his prosthetic hanging limply. It must be out of power but it looked so… dead. He couldn’t look for long. 

As soon as he was alone in the bed he pulled and pushed the pillows and blankets into something akin to a nest. It must have been hours before he slept. His mind raced through every look, glance, move, word from that day. Did Nick really care about him? Did he see him as a child that needed care? Did he find him pathetic? Did he hate him for telling him not to take off the prosthetic? How much did he know? Was he surprised not to find the coke in his bag? Where was his phone hidden?

These and hundreds of other questions spiralled through his mind until they eventually became a series of rather horrid dreams. He awoke several times throughout the night with wide eyes and a cold sweat. This was going to be a long weekend. 

The next day went much the same. Nick sat with him at every meal and made sure he finished then cleaned everything up. They went on a walk or two despite Hancock’s insistence that they not. They swapped crazy stories from work and watched tv and read together.

All the while Valentine stayed hyper aware of John, steering the conversation away from anything that seemed to make him anxious and lingering on topic that made him smile. Any time he would pick at his arms or the hem of his shirt Nick’s left hand would rest on top of it until it retreated.

He didn’t know what had overcome him but after Valentine did it for probably the 16th time that night, John started bawling. Full on ugly tears, shoulders shaking as he sobbed, face red with shame. His boyfriend was taken aback for less than a second before wrapping him in his arms and pulling him close, whispering reassurances into his ear. He never asked what was wrong or tried to say it would be okay, he just promised that he was safe. 

It all had Hancock so damn small and naked. Every single wall he had put up over the last few years - the carefully constructed, carefree persona he always projected - gone. Nick could see right through all of it and John didn’t even have the energy to try and keep it up. And all the little things he was doing… If Hancock didn’t know better he would say that he cared. 

But, as he said, he knew better. Deacon and MacCready had known him for years now. Neither of them would ever take care of him like this. They just treated him like a burden - a fuck up that couldn’t function sometimes and then they had to do everything for him. They tried to put on a good face most of the time but he saw the looks, heard the tone of voice. Sometimes they didn’t even bother trying to hide it.

Either Nick was very good at hiding it or he wanted something. It was probably the latter. What exactly it was, he didn’t know yet. But he would figure it out. No one would be nice to him just to be nice to him. No one would sit with him and make him eat, remind him to drink water, make him go outside. 

And even if he did, he would get sick of it soon. He would get sick of the depression and the anxiety and the god damn cravings for drugs all the time. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to get clean! He wanted to so bad for Nick. But what was the point? These cravings were never going to go away but eventually Nick would, wouldn’t he? 

Silence cut through his thoughts suddenly. Where was he? The room was too dark to see but it was soft. He was in bed. How had he gotten here? Had he really been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed? A moment’s focus revealed that he had. The movie they had been watching had ended and Nick had walked him to the room, leaving a glass of water on the side table. It was still there, untouched. 

Hancock threw his legs off the side of the bed and began searching the place. He couldn’t do it anymore. His goddamn memory was going to fuck’s sake! His hands shook as he pulled open drawer after drawer. His phone had to be here somewhere. 

The shaking in his hands grew worse until he could barely hold anything. He hadn’t found his phone yet and he was getting more desperate by the second. He just needed a hit right now. He’d figure out a way to pay for it when the time came. 

A silver glint in the drawer he had open caught his eye. A letter opener. Red blood welled forth from his finger as he tested the edge. Well, if he wasn’t going to be able to get the drugs, this was a good back-up plan. High wasn’t as good but it would have to do. 

The sound of ruffling blankets drifted in from the living room and Hancock froze. Nick. Nick was still here. Oh god. He had to do this now or there wouldn’t be another chance for a couple days. 

Nick stumbled into the kitchen, leaning against the wall for support as his fake hand ran through his hair. “What’s going on?” he mumbled. The letter opener clattered to the floor and His eyes trailed from the knife up to the hand that had just dropped it. It was the blood that snapped him awake. “What happened? Come here.”

Hancock allowed himself to be pulled back into the kitchen. Water rushed over his fingers and it stung a bit but he didn’t react. “It’s okay, Nicky. I didn’t do it. It’s just my finger see? I didn’t do it!” The laugh he made sounded so hollow and he could see his boyfriend’s heart breaking in his eyes. 

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice almost but not quite breaking. A bandaid emerged from his pocket and was carefully wrapped around the other’s cut finger. 

John’s jaw dropped. Proud? How- He had nearly fucked up a 4 month streak! He’d nearly used again! What was there to be proud of?

Suddenly he was crushed by a hug. In moments his own arms were tight around the cop, clutching on like he was the only real thing left in this world. He was sure as hell the only one that seemed to care, even if he didn’t understand why. John’s face snuggled into the other man’s shoulder as Nick rested his head atop Hancock’s. “I’m proud because you didn’t do it. You’re doing your best.”

Suddenly a weight he didn’t know was on his shoulders was lifted. He was trying so hard and no one knew. Hell, even Nick probably didn’t realize how true his words were. “It’s coke,” he whispered so quietly even he himself could barely hear it. It was so hard to say. He didn’t want him to know but at the same time he did. He didn’t want to hide it. 

“What?”

Hancock broke from the hug and took a step back, hands clenching into fists then relaxing over and over. It took him several seconds to meet his eyes. “I’m hooked on cocaine.” He couldn’t make it through the whole sentence without looking away. “I tried to quit but it’s so hard and I’m itchin’ real bad for some.” Again the nervous laughter came forward. 

Nick’s shoulders were tensed. He seemed almost angry and Hancock wish he’d never said anything. Of course he’d react like this! He was a cop for fuck’s sake. “How did it start?”

It was far too late to back out now and more secrets would probably just make it worse. “I’d just been kicked out. Thought about killing myself cause the pot wasn’t doing enough. Deacon convinced me to try coke instead and, well, I’m still here right?” Nick didn’t respond. “I’ve done some things I’m not real proud of, Nicky. You know the stupid cliches about sleeping with people and stealing stuff for drugs? I don’t want to be like that anymore. I want to be better. For you.”

Nick was full on shaking now, both hands balled into fists. Immediately Hancock withdrew, flinching away from his boyfriend and looking down, lips remaining firmly shut. It took a second for him to register what was going on before, “No! Listen, John.” Both his hands came to rest on the side of the man’s face and guided it up so their eyes could meet. “I love you.”

It was the first time either had said it and here they were in a kitchen late at night, both shaking and - frankly - a mess. 

“I’m not angry at you, okay? I’m pissed at myself for not realizing how bad it was and what was going on. I should’ve known. I’m supposed to protect you.” What Nick neglected to say was that was also harboring some serious hate for Deacon at the moment that he would not be afraid to make very clear to him the next day.

Hancock managed a small laugh. “I did my best to keep it hidden. And you don’t have to protect me. I’m pretty fucked up. Not sure you want to deal with all of it.” Nick’s words kept replaying in his head as if when he stopped thinking about them, they would cease to be real. 

“I want to. I know it’s not gonna be pretty and you’re gonna screw up sometimes but I want to help you. Or at least try,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “Is that okay with you?”

He got a nod in response. “Can you sleep in the bed with me?” It wasn’t until the two were cuddled together in the nest of sheets and pillows that Hancock spoke again. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Now I've never been addicted to cocaine but I've done my research and I most certainly do have depression and anxiety. I hope this was an accurate depiction.


End file.
